


The Soul Never Thinks Without a Picture

by ScienceofObsession



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Pre-Slash, Thinky Porn, Wow things look a lot more substantial on Tumblr, no specific timeline, they're so short I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceofObsession/pseuds/ScienceofObsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles inspired by photos and gifs on Tumblr. </p><p>(Title from Aristotle)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Land of the Living

 

 

They wonder if John’s really living these days. Not the heartbeat and steady breath of physical life, but rather the absence of that fleeting feeling that it’s worth it to pry open your eyes in the morning. They worry about his diet and his health and why he continues to torture himself with the memories of Sherlock. They confer in whispers when they think he can’t hear and wonder if they should make sure someone’s with him through the night when he has those ‘bad spells.’ They comment that what he’s doing is not really living.

But John knows better. Oh, yes. The pain reminds him. He is living.

More precisely, he is reliving. Every moment, reliving. _That day._ He sees it in short clips, swimming and then fading to black as though a curtain is drawn, the audience collectively holding its breath as it waits for the next flicker on screen. Replaying, replaying. A silent movie, looped.

“You machine.”

[black]

His voice. Strained, tense. Missing its familiar rumble. Scared.

[black]

“Keep your eyes fixed on me.” As if they’d ever been fixed anywhere else but on him.

[black]

Coat flapping, long legs flying. Ever graceful, even when it didn’t make any sense to be. When he had no right to be.

[black]

Dark curls, wet with blood, blood, so much blood. A halo.

[black]

The echoing rush. Chaos around him, ears ringing in confusion. Heart breaking, pounding, breaking.

[black]

Warm wrist, but something’s missing. Missing… Oh god the pulse there’s no pulse. Sherlock no, no, no.

[black]

Eyes, so blue. Mocking. So wrong. Not his anymore.

[black]

“Goodbye, John.”

[black]

“Goodbye, John.”

[black]

“Goodbye, John.”

[black]

 

[black]

 

[black]

 


	2. Ticket Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's finally going home.

 

Sherlock takes a deep breath and leans back in the seat, his eyelids drooping slightly as he lets the traffic lights slide over him, washing him clean. He grasps the ticket in his hand like a lifeline, the thick edges of it digging into his fingers and reminding him that this ride is different from so many that he’s been on.

 

He’s not going with revenge as his partner, not going in pain or to cause harm. Not digging, searching, peeling away layers. Not chasing or threatening. That traveler is buried deep now, exhausted and used, sated. Claws retracted.

 

Tonight, he’s going in peace and in rest, with the warmth of hope. Because now, _finally_ , he is returning home.

 

He’s returning to John.

 

The ticket glows against his skin, anticipating.


	3. A Dangerous Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re losing him. End this, and soon. - MH

 

 

The tiny cafe offers some respite from the crowds, as Sherlock bends over his disposable phone and reads the text again. As if it’s not already tattooed on his mind, as if he has thought of anything else for the past 22 hours.

 

_You’re losing him. End this, and soon. MH_

 

By the time he notices the sudden move by the waiter, it’s almost too late. As bones crunch and the blade clatters to the floor, he thinks: Sloppy. Stupid. Sentiment.

 

Sherlock throws the phone in the first bin he sees, tucks his hands in his pockets, and heads down the sidewalk, shouldering through the bustle. He’ll be damned, after all this, to be destroyed by his newly-discovered heart.


	4. What the Heart Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t ignore love.

 

You can’t ignore love.

 

Oh, you can try. You can tamp it down, tell it it’s not welcome. You can tear it and mold it until it almost, just almost, believes it’s not real. You can throw tantrums of denial, yell into the corners of your heart that whatever _this thing is_ that’s going on is absolutely _not happening_ , thank you very much. You can give it reasons why it’s ridiculous and can’t possibly work, can’t possibly even be considered. You can point your heart in other hopeful directions in vain attempts to redirect its warmth. You can try to convince yourself that this new love is unrequited and orphaned, a distinct recipe for failure and heartbreak -- a very, very bad idea.

 

But the funny thing is – once you’re in love, there’s nothing you can do to get back out again. Because your heart knows, deep down, what’s best for you.

 

 

 

 

_______________________________________

(gif credit to http://sherlockspeare.tumblr.com)


	5. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's more painful than a decision of the heart?

**  
**

John always worried that when this day actually came, Sherlock would miss it. And now here he is, sitting in a back room while guests mill outside and somewhere Mary is beaming in white, and he’s thinking about _him_.

 

If the colossal dick would _just show up_ , dammit, John could look in his eyes and know he’s making the right choice. All it would take is a moment, just a chance to see him coming through the door, a chance to see him chase John for once, instead of the other way around. And maybe he'd find he was wrong - but at least he would _know._

 

Perhaps that was too much to ask.

 

 

 

 

 

 

\-----

Originally [here](http://thescienceofobsession.tumblr.com/post/30348237884/x-john-always-worried-that-when-this-day) on Tumblr.


	6. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John follows the coat - again. But this time, he finds something different.

All it took was the smallest peek of a grey coat disappearing around the bricked corner, and John was lost. Off in a shot, adrenaline flooding his dusty veins, mind whirling with possibility. Pursuing that one dream he’d never let go of. Consumed, reckless, unflinching in the absurdity of what he’s chasing.

 

And, suddenly, there it is - his dream, a ghost standing in front of him, chest heaving with impossible life. Rain-soaked hair, wet skin, the pale eyes he never stopped imagining. His head beats in time with his pounding chest, scattered confusion meeting disbelief and sickening hope.

 

_“Sh… Sherlock?”_

_“Hello, John.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

_________

Originally posted [here](http://thescienceofobsession.tumblr.com/post/32470324717/blackmorgan-x-all-it-took-was-the-smallest) on Tumblr.

Photo from [beeblebrox4prez](http://s12.photobucket.com/albums/a246/beeblebrox4prez/sherlock/?action=view&current=tumblr_les17autey1qcwyvco1_500.png) via [blackmorgan](http://blackmorgan.tumblr.com/).

 

 

 


	7. Emm Cee Squared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shot of courage, and perhaps a shot in the foot of Sherlock's dignity.

 

    

 

 

“John, I am not doing this.”

“We both know you _are_ doing this, Sherlock, so you can just stop protesting.”

“Ridiculous sham…” Sherlock continued to grumble assorted phrases of annoyance and resigned discontent as he straightened his cuffs. Nimble fingers arranged the black silk bowtie with the practiced ease of one raised among frequent dinner parties, and if there was an undercurrent of barely-contained violence of those small movements, John was certainly not one to notice.

“It’s _Greg_ , Sherlock, it’s the least you could do.”

The gaze that settled on John’s face was of thinly veiled irritation.

“John, it’s bad enough that I have to _attend_ this… thing.” Sherlock’s hand waved dismissively as he paced. “But to actually preside as a _Master of Ceremonies_? It’s preposterous. Clearly there are others better suited and more amenable than myself.”

John tried not to look as gleeful as he felt, knowing that Sherlock’s grumbling only meant he was certainly not backing out now.

“Here, have a bit of a drink. It will calm your nerves.” A glass of amber liquid pressed itself into Sherlock’s hand.

“I don’t need a drink, John. I’m fine. I just…”

“Drink it, Sherlock.”

“But John I…”

“Drink.”

With a huff, Sherlock knocked back the entire contents of the glass, causing John’s eyebrows to shoot up.

“What? No use in wasting time if you’re going to glower at me like that. Give me another.”

At John’s uncertain pause Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I can certainly handle two drinks, John, don’t be ridiculous.”

John figured he’d better go ahead and pour one for himself while he was at it.

 

+++++

 

 And that, dear friends, is how Sherlock Holmes came to be on a low stage in front of half of Scotland Yard, bowtie dangling, brandishing a cane stolen from the lobby coatcheck ( _look John, it’s a skull!_ ), discussing with more than usual vigor his affection for Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, who is not a complete idiot if he puts his mind to it, and looking remarkably similar to a man who has had far too much to drink and is quite enjoying himself.

And if you listened closely, you would have heard a certain esteemed Dr. John Watson giggling in the wings, imparting a not-so-delicate snort of utter joy at the expressions on the faces of the Yarders that would never, ever look at Sherlock the same way again.

 

 

 

 

 

**______  
**

Originally posted [here](http://thescienceofobsession.tumblr.com/post/30336632493/john-i-am-not-doing-this-we-both-know-you) on Tumblr.  
GIF credit to [dropsofamortentia](http://dropsofamortentia.tumblr.com/).

 


	8. The Magical Properties of a Certain Purple Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are there pheromones imbedded in that shade of purple, perhaps?

 

“Is it working?”

 

John doesn’t quite carry it off with the same gravity (it’s just a bit too regal, that shade) but Sherlock is remembering the smell of afternoon sunlight on John’s skin right there behind his left ear, so he ducks under his coffee to hide a smile. The shirt is inconsequential. The boon he’ll receive from the boost to John’s confidence, however, may well make this trip _very_ worth it.

 

Sherlock unfolds with purpose, pressing his hip pointedly into John’s ribs as warmth seeps into his skin. Lips tickle the silvery threads at John’s temple as he whispers, “I’ll leave you to your deductions, Doctor,” and walks towards their room.

 

Sherlock smirks as he hears a fork clatter to the table behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

___________

Posted originally on Tumblr [here](http://thescienceofobsession.tumblr.com/post/24632336658/is-it-working-john-doesnt-quite-carry-it-off).

GIF credit to [northernbluetwo](http://northernbluetwo.tumblr.com/post/24575159494).


	9. Upon These Sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a way to wake up.

 

He emerges slowly, coaxed and controlled by the soft breath that floats in waves, a whisper on pale, angled skin. It pulls him, drawing him out like a poison from sleep’s grasp, disperses him into the air. The elegant dust of him swirls, rising towards consciousness, both eager and hesitant. The dark peace of sleep still envelops him, wrapping his limbs in a soft laze, as spots of light flicker under his eyelids. They slowly coalesce into the gentle glow of 3:54 pm on a Wednesday, and John is there.

 

John, his anchor and constant surprise, the sameness of sanity and chaos of thrilling life. His doctor and companion and partner and backup, his inspiration and compass. Only in John does trust take on a sapphire blue hue, backlit by something undefined and brilliantly dangerous.

 

And only here does he feel safe, here in slanted sunlight and soft cotton sheets, the faint smell of sex and chemical bonds hanging in the air. Here he is able to leave his mind, to walk outside himself. A ghost explorer, a peaceful emissary to quiet inactivity, he brings himself outside only to look back in. To see his own thoughts in the reflection of John. To look at the bends in light and know they were shaped in love by those rough hands as they grasped curls or sketched in reverent hieroglyphics upon collarbones. Here his thoughts are beautiful and worthy.

 

He looks upon himself and sees the protective arch of John’s shoulders, back bent lusty and straining. He sees the strength of thigh and sacrum’s pivot, the sheen of eager sweat, looks to his own face and finds the breath-stealing sight of complete surrender. Eyelids pulling closed, mouth the shape of supplication. Fingertips digging into tanned skin, splayed and begging. Ribs dancing as chests heave, breaths becoming a single storm that circles in whispered names and growled demands. His mind is blissfully blank as his body is pulled under.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______

Originally [here](http://thescienceofobsession.tumblr.com/post/49511278109/he-emerges-slowly-coaxed-and-controlled-by-the) on Tumblr.

Photo credit to [fancymen.tumblr.com](http://fancymen.tumblr.com/)


End file.
